


The Garrison Makes Good

by spacepirate



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (He Got Better), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, guns n razors cw, i developed brainrot and this was the result, idek, jonny dies of course, peaky stans dni, so that says all you need to know, the file name was what even is this shit, you won't Get It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacepirate/pseuds/spacepirate
Summary: With the Aurora in need of repair, the space pirate crew known as the Mechanisms find themselves stranded in 1920s Birmingham.  Jonny does Jonny things and meets a few individuals from a particular gang.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	The Garrison Makes Good

The pub was called The Garrison, and if Jonny was right- and he always was- it carried the promise of exquisite violence. Which he so desperately needed- Birmingham was boring, and the 1920s were one of the bleakest times he’d experienced so far. Christ, he needed something. Preferably with guns, maybe some alcohol. Definitely some alcohol. Fucking ship had to break down here didn’t it? And of course Nastya couldn’t find the parts she needed. Of course. That’s how it always worked.

Jonny pushed the door open, having just a moment of regret as the patronage immediately fell silent. Behind him the doors slammed shut, leaving everyone in the room looking at him.

There were two people behind the bar. One was a blonde woman, who was staring him down with daggers for eyes. He knew that look- he got it from Nastya plenty. On her other side was a man wearing a cap and a dark coat. The guy didn’t look like he belonged behind a bar. It was hard to decide if he belonged in the streets or sitting at a desk in a fancy office, but Jonny recognized the eyes of someone who had mired in violence from a young age. Saw it every damn time he looked in the mirror.

He got the impression that this was an establishment not frequented by outsiders. “You fuckers got whisky?” he shouted.

The guy didn’t say anything. The woman, however, did speak up. “Of course, this is a reputable establishment.” Her voice had a soft lilt.

That got a laugh from an older man sitting at the bar, with a mustache that would’ve made Tim proud. He looked similar to the one behind the bar in both looks and dress… brothers, perhaps? “Fuckin’ excellent joke there, Grace,” he said. Jonny noticed he was carrying a weapon, and looking around closer he realized pretty much everyone in here was armed. Primitive looking pistols, but those still hurt.

“Scotch or Irish?” the woman- Grace, Jonny corrected himself- said.

Jonny pulled out a stool and plunked down at the bar. “Scotch, obviously. None of that pansy shit.”

Grace elbowed the man next to her. “Are you going to take offense to that, Thomas?”

_Thomas. Finally a name for that dour face._ “I only speak the truth,” Jonny said with a shrug. Thomas poured him a glass, and Jonny took a sip thoughtfully. No, not nearly as good as the stuff back home. Nothing would ever touch New Texan whisky.

“No offense taken, Mr…?” Thomas asked. “Although you’ll do well to drop your weapons.”

“Jonny. D’ville.”  
“Hm. I’ve got a brother John,” Thomas commented, and then pointed to the six-shooters Jonny had under his stolen coat. “Drop those, please.”

“You fought in the war?” Jonny asked, deflecting the request to disarm.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Recognize that look on your face. Seen it on myself. World War One was a fuckin’ nightmare, from what I’ve read,” Jonny said. He drank the rest of his drink, shuddering. _What the hell, it’s like petrol. Disgusting._

“World War One?” Thomas looked intrigued.

_Shit fuck shit fucking hell, Jonny, it’s just the Great War for them at this point._ “Ah. Regional name difference. You call it the Great War here, I believe.”

Thomas took off his hat- a weird move- and nodded towards his brother at the bar. “Arthur, where did our guest here say he was from?”

“I don’t think he did say, Tommy,” the other guy said. Jonny was suddenly very aware of the proximity of both of them to him, and the hostile eyes of everyone else in the Garrison. As he got up to make a bolt for the door, Thomas lunged across the bar, hat in hand, and Jonny felt a searing pain across his cheek, just barely missing his eye. It only slowed him for a second though, and he was out and down the street within seconds.

He ducked around a building and stood for a moment to take stock. First, the wound. It was a deep cut, crimson blood dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. Razor blades in the hat? What? And moreso, _why?_

No time for that. He peeked around the corner to verify no one was there, and then started the other direction.

Thomas was standing there. Jonny backtracked and started around the corner, only to find Arthur waiting for him.

“Fuck,” Jonny said.

“I don’t know what you want, or who sent you,” Thomas said. His voice was eerily quiet for its strength. “But you’ll be a nice reminder for anyone else who gets ideas. No one fucks with the Peaky Blinders.”

Jonny just stared at Thomas as the man raised his gun and fired.

-

Dying, no matter how many times it happened, was not a fun experience. It was like the worst hangover he could imagine, multiplied by approximately seven and a half. Jonny eventually came back to his senses. Everything felt… muddy, like he was feeling his surroundings through thick gloves, but he realized he was buried in a pile of coal. He pushed his way up towards the surface and broke through the top, gasping for air he didn’t really need. The head shot was healing, although he supposed it still looked fresh and disgusting. He blinked a few times to clear the coal dust out of his eyes, and looked around. Slowly and unsteadily, he climbed down the coal pile and stepped onto the cobblestones.

Arthur heard the clatter of coal and whipped around to face him. Arthur’s face paled and Jonny heard his breath catch in his throat.

“Actually,” Jonny said in a raspy voice, “you’ll find that no one fucks with Jonny D’ville.”

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching peaky blinders and the thought i had was "huh jonny and tommy would either get along wonderfully or fucking HATE each other" and the progression of that was "cool so now i have to write it even though it's literally the most niche goddamn thing".  
> so now this exists in the world, courtesy of ADHD. you're welcome or i'm sorry.


End file.
